Page 90 of Beckett
“We were tracking an insurgent leader. High-value target. Rodriguez was on my left flank, exactly where he was supposed to be.” He stopped pacing, braced his hands on the back of his chair. The muscles in his forearms corded with tension. “My K-9 partner started acting up—hackles raised, growling low. Classic alert behavior. But I was watching the wrong sector. If I’d just looked where the dog was looking, if I’d trusted what he was telling me… Rodriguez would still be alive.”
“Beckett—”
“The insurgent had a vendetta against our translator.” His knuckles went white where he gripped the chair. “Nothing to do with Rodriguez—with any of us—at all. Rodriguez was just collateral damage. Wrong place, wrong time.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, even though I knew how hollow those words could sound. How many times had people told me the same thing about Todd’s death? About the stalker? Words didn’t change the weight you carried.
He looked at me then, really looked at me. “Funny how easy it is to say that to someone else, isn’t it? But when it’s your own guilt, your own what-ifs, it’s different.”
He had me there. I could tell him all day that Rodriguez’s death wasn’t his fault, but I’d never stop feeling responsible for the danger I’d brought to Garnet Bend.
“The point is,” he continued, moving back to his chair but not sitting, just gripping the back of it like an anchor, “Rodriguez died not because of anything he did, but because someone had a vendetta against someone else entirely. He was collateral damage in someone else’s war.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Sound familiar?”
“But I’m not a soldier. This isn’t a battle.”
“There are all different types of soldiers, Audra.” Something shifted in his expression, like pieces were clicking together about something in his mind. “Different types of battles. Different types of enemies. Sometimes we have enemies whether we want them or not, whether we asked for them or not.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“Different types of soldiers.” He stood abruptly, pulling out the burner phone Travis had given him. “I need to call Travis. I think we might have just figured out the missing part of this puzzle.”
But before he could dial, a faint glow swept across the window. Lights from a car, not bright enough to be headlights. The vehicle was moving slow. Deliberate. I tensed, and Jet’s head shot up, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
“What the hell?” Beckett moved closer to the window, and I joined him. The car was driving with only its parking lights on, creeping along the dirt road that led toward Lark’s house.
Beckett was already pulling out his phone. “Aiden, who’s on patrol at Pawsitive? We have an unsub approaching suspiciously near Lark’s house.” Pause. “Fuck. Okay, tell him to get himselfover there as soon as possible. My Glock is at the bottom of the river.”
He hung up. “Coop is on his way, but he’s on foot across the property.”
“What do we do?”
“I can’t leave you here alone,” he said, more to himself than to me. “And I don’t trust Jet to protect you if I’m not here.” He looked at the German shepherd, who was still growling low. “No offense, buddy, but you’ve already proven multiple times that’s not your forte.”
“So we go together,” I said.
He looked like he wanted to argue, but we both knew we didn’t have time. Every second counted if this was our chance to catch the stalker.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered. “And if I tell you to run, you run. No arguments.”
We moved through the darkness, Jet beside us, Beckett leading the way with the kind of silent precision that came from years of military training. Every twig that snapped under my foot sounded like a gunshot. The cold air burned my lungs—or maybe that was fear. Pine needles brushed against my arms, each touch making me flinch, expecting hands to grab me from the shadows.
My breath came in short, sharp bursts that I tried to muffle. The moonlight threw twisted shadows across the path, turning innocent bushes into crouching figures. An owl called somewhere above us, and I bit back a gasp. My fingers found Jet’s fur, grounding myself in his warm, solid presence.
The distance to Lark’s house couldn’t have been more than a quarter mile, but it felt endless. Beckett moved with such certainty ahead of me, never hesitating, never doubting, that I forced myself to follow.
Lark’s house finally came into view, that cheerful yellow paint looking ghostly and wrong in the moonlight. The vehicle was parked in her driveway now, engine still running, a low rumble that vibrated through the ground and up into my bones.
Beckett held up a hand, stopping me. My heart hammered so loud I was sure everyone could hear it, sure it would give away our position. The waiting was agony. Each second stretched like an hour, my mind spinning through every terrible possibility. Was he in that car? Was he checking Lark’s empty house? Looking for me? Setting another trap?
Then another figure came running from the opposite direction—Coop, moving fast despite the darkness, his own weapon drawn. The metal gleamed cold in the moonlight, a reminder that this was real, that the danger I’d brought to this peaceful place had teeth and claws and wouldn’t stop until?—
Coop stopped immediately when he saw Beckett and me. The two of them communicated with hand signals I didn’t understand, Coop nodding and circling around to flank the vehicle while Beckett approached from the front.
I held my breath, Jet tense beside me, as they converged on the car.
Jet suddenly relaxed, his tail starting to wag. Before I could grab his collar, he took off toward the car, a happy whine escaping his throat.
“Jet!” I whisper-yelled. Oh God, if Jet got hurt, I would never forgive myself.
